Veni, Vidi, Vici
by bouncyjellies
Summary: Empires rise and fall all the time. It was the way it was, and it was the way it would forever be. Some empires lasted longer than the others, with roots unique, and a legacy unmatched by many. It was the Galactic Terran Empire. This is its story. (Starcraft and Halo are major influences, though their plots aren't included, will have many crossovers later, rated M in case)
1. Preface

_Had you told me three hundred years ago that I would be the unquestioned leader of an empire that spanned not continents, not worlds, not systems but entire star sectors and spiral arms, I would have laughed at you and questioned you sanity, before proceeding with asking what type of drugs you were using. Oh, how things have changed. I will not pretend to be a good person, and I won't even try to look like a saint. My sins are known for everyone to see, and if a hell existed, I probably would belong in its deepest pits. I have played God, and enjoyed it. I have defied angels, demons and beings that I simply cannot classify. I have seen wars so devastating and large that the combined deaths and destruction from every single war on Earth from its early years to the early twenty-first century looked like a mere skirmish when compared to it. I have caused supernovas, burnt worlds to ash and glass, shattered planets and caused extinctions of multiple alien races. I have done all of it in the name of the Empire, in the name of the human race, and though I will come to regret it, I wouldn't change a single damn thing even if I had the chance to. Why, you might ask. Take a good look at the galaxy, and you'll see why. I am not justifying my actions, merely stating the truth that I did what I could, with the best I could work with. The blood of billions of lives are on my hands, and no amount of goodwill hand washing will ever stop my inner demons from haunting me for it. I fear that it will not stop there. But if I have to eradicate an entire species for the Empire's survival, I would not hesitate to do so. If I have to kill billions to save trillions, then it would be done without pause. If I have to set an entire galaxy aflame and burn it in the fiery hells of war in order for the Empire and the Human Race to endure and thrive, then so be it. A wise man once said that when we're all dead and gone, all that matters is our legacy, how people remember us. The man that said that was remembered as one of the best damn businessmen in human history, and no truer words could be possible. This will be my Absolute Record. It will carry the truth behind my actions. Who knows how I'll be judged for this one day? For all I know, I'll be a pariah for the future generation, remembered as a tyrant. I never wanted to rule with an iron fist…but the life we live in just doesn't give us much of an option. We make do with what we can…for that is all we can do._

_His Imperial Highness, Emperor Alexander (the Conqueror) of the Galactic Terran Empire_


	2. Prologue

In a world with seven billion inhabitants, Alexander Cole was just another average fourteen year old. Sure, he had a higher intelligence quotient than most of the people his age, and sure, a kid with ancestry coming from England, China, Indonesia, Romania and the USA was rare, but in the long run he would have just been another person with a slight addiction to war games involving strategy.

He was not the most handsome in his school, nor was he the smartest (still smart, but not on a scale of a genius). He had friends (though much smaller in number than the rest), and he had girls he crushed on. In short, he was your (mostly) regular teenager. On the surface, that is…

His dreams in life were simple, if not peculiar. Instead of wanting to be a footballer or anything even relating to sports, he wanted three things: Money, Power, and the secret to longevity. This was where his differences with the others of his age deepened. Empathy was never a strong suit of his, and more often than not friends were only considered as such after years of knowing them.

Yet he mostly knew that it was nigh impossible for such things to come true. Absolute power, after all, corrupted absolutely. The few friends who knew his deepest and darkest desires agreed at this, but they often joked that fate worked in mysterious ways, so who knew, right?

Cole never really left things to chance, and he didn't truly believe in letting fate handle things. One of the reasons he wasn't a Muslim (not that he discriminated against those who were) was due to the fact that one of their more religious phrases, 'inshallah,' meant 'god willing.' Then again, Cole wasn't religious either. Far from it…the closest thing you could describe him to was probably agnostic.

In his personal time, when he had the time to muse that is, he would dream of an empire ruled justly, and peacefully. Still, he was realistic, and knew that there was no such thing as a perfect government. Ruling like a tyrant did not help anyone's case, and would lead to rebellion.

Still, it was what it was…musings.

Had nothing happened, and had life just gone on like this, nothing would happen. In fact…

_The five teenagers continued down the path, two girls and three boys. The chatter between them was rather frivolous, pointless gossip that teenagers and young adults seemed to love indulging in. One of the group strayed a bit behind, still participating in the conversation, but not really putting his mind into it. He felt strangely foreboding today, as if he knew something terrible was about to happen. The grey clouds that promised rain only amplified this feeling. The five were headed to a small beach house, owned by one of them. _

_For a brief moment of time, he felt compelled to stop and listen, and did so, telling his friends that he would only be awhile. The growl of thunder began booming in the air, and yet he did not seem to mind. Turning to look at the vast ocean north of the vacation island he was at, the boy smiled fleetingly, before his instincts, which had served him well in the past, screamed 'danger.' He wanted to move, to jump out of the way, but his body stayed frozen, rooted to the spot as if someone had cast a spell on him. _

_Then the lightning struck. Instead of the usual color, the bolt was light blue in color. It was a numerical improbability, nigh impossible in its own rights. Improbable, though, did not mean impossible. Had this gone on like it would- and should- have, Alexander Cole's brief life would have ended right then and there._

Then again, fate…was a fickle, fickle mistress.

* * *

Location: Terra, Celebes System

Date: Unknown (assumed date, Earth Standard Calendar: June 6, 2014)

The planet of Terra was situated deep inside the Orion Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy. Located far away from the human home world of Earth, Terra was its mirror world, just much bigger and with different landmarks. While the world looked the same, as did its inhabitants, the state of technology, the size of the landmass and the amount of moons was different. Being almost two times the size of Earth, Terra, while having the uncanny same landmass formations as Earth, needed three moons to ensure that it had the same level of gravity as Earth. The moons were all barren, but in the night sky and to the opinions of the primitive natives, it was almost holy and ethereal.

The inhabitants of Terra had no technology. The world was not organized into governments. Small feudal empires dotted the land, in addition to wealthy cities and poor towns. The ruling classes, the aristocracy, were the mages, humans who could conjure 'magical' abilities. It was only due to the primitiveness and non-existent state of their technology that the proof of 'magic' being advanced levels of 'extrasensory perception' had not come to light. It would have stayed this way for centuries and millenniums, as it had been.

The mages weren't the aristocracy for no reason. While the feudal empire existed, the only reason there was no expansion was due to the bands of warmongering Ghouls and Druids. The Druids were semi-sapient beings that existed to kill. They were psionic beings, capable of 'dark' magic (the same as the supposed good magic, really). The Ghouls were the 'cannon fodder; of the druids. While the Druids were rare, but extremely hard to kill, Ghouls multiplied in great numbers at insane rates. It was only their feral state and weak bodies that caused them to be not much of a threat to the locals. Indeed, the only reason Ghouls were dangerous were due to their high numbers. But had it been only Ghouls and Druids, the crafty humans would have eliminated the bane that was the Scourge. No, there were worse beings. The Eidolons were large Ghouls, almost impossible to kill by ordinary weapons due to their thick skin that served as natural armor. The Sprites were the flying creatures of the Scourge. They had leathery wings, and were like Ghouls in nature. The only saving grace for the humans was the fact that these Scourges were not organized in any way, and that they fought each other as much as they fought humans.

Still, that did not mean that humans here were invincible. The cities were the home of the ruling class, with tall walls made out of stone. Archers and mages guarded the cities, and the many denizens that were regular humans served as the ground forces, the meat shields of the cities' armies. The cities themselves were in a continuous cycle of warfare and diplomacy. When Scourge Swarms (large bands of Scourges under the control of Druids) moved in the path of a group of cities, the cities would band together to handle the problem. After the end of the Druid threat, the cities would break their alliance and go back to quarrelling with each other. Towns and villages near the cities were taken under their rule, with meager walls being built around them. While a city had a good chance of surviving a war with other cities or Scourges, the towns and villages did not. Most towns and villages would be destroyed during the many wars between cities, or served as early warning outposts against the swarms of Scourges.

The citizens of these towns weren't there by choice. Undesired citizens from the cities would be sent to the towns, and though towns and villages were far more dangerous than the cities, they had higher chances of survival they're than in the wilderness. Of course, some towns and villages indeed did survive, turning into minor cities of their own given time, but these were extremely rare.

In what would have been considered the British Isles had it been on Earth, on what would have been called Wales, a war was raging.

It was just like the hundreds, if not thousands of wars that had been raging between the many cities and empire of this world since time immemorial.

The city of Vanei was a medium-sized one on this world. Thirty-five thousand people called it home, and it controlled the nearby settlements. Ruled under the tyrannical fist of the High Lords, the people there were oppressed. Rebellion, though, was impossible due to the large militia and hostile cities that would not hesitate to take advantage of them.

Erebia was the rival city of Vanei, controlling a similar tract of territory. The population of Erebia was at a steady thirty-seven thousand people, a tad bit higher than Vanei, though they had the problems that came with it. The two cities had been involved in a set of wars during the past twenty years, and the tentative peace that had lasted a meager three months seemed like it would be broken soon.

The village of Broomridge was located near the 'border' of the two feudal empires, and had been lucky in the many wars that had plagued both lands. The village had gone unnoticed during the previous wars, as it was in a strategically poor location.

Still, their luck would not last for long.

The tension between Vanei and Erebia had just doubled in the past day, regarding the positioning of the borders.

Both were prepared for war, and it seemed that Broomridge, located right in the center of the disputed territory, was going to be in the thick of it.

The village was administrated by the Vanei Lordship, but had a practically non-existent militia.

It would prove to be their downfall…but again, fate was a very fickle mistress, and Broomridge would play an important part on what would come.

* * *

Broomridge, Vanei Territory

Britannia Isles, Europa, Terra

Date Unknown (ESC: June 7, 2014)

Lars Bennett was the village chief of Broomridge, serving as both the administrator and governor of the settlement. With just under three hundred inhabitants, Broomridge was rather insignificant in the grand scale of things.

The defenses of Broomridge were meager, a mere forty footmen armed with swords and ten bowmen. It would've been laughable in the face of a partially determined attack, which made what was going on outside the village walls even direr.

Four hundred swordsmen and a hundred archers, led by a group of knights, had gathered outside of Broomridge. To make things worse, the banners of the Erebian Royal House was displayed proudly in the center of the formation.

Lars sighed, arming himself with a sword and dagger, before stepping outside the village walls, escorted by five of his best footmen. Making the trek to the Erebian formation, Lars' mind began thinking of the strange events of the past day. A sentry had spotted a 'blinding light' coming from the north, which led to five of the men going forth to investigate. They returned with a badly wounded male, not much older than fifteen at the least. Burn marks covered the entire body, yet the boy had healed extremely fast. The apothecary of the village had remarked that it was an amazing sight to behold, which caused both Lars and Keane Rieker, the village's only mage, to visit. Lars had seen nothing out of the ordinary other than the abnormally fast healing, but the mage had seemed to be in shocked silence.

He had given it no thought, but it was admittedly rather strange now that he had done so.

Still, Bennett realized that he was at his destination already, and two knights in dark metal armor were waiting. Both had their helmets off, and one was much older than the other. Both had rapiers, though Lars was sure that they didn't really need it- knights only came from the nobles, and nearly all of the nobles were mages. The older one, with whitened hair and a scarred face, was the first to speak.

"You are the administrator of Broomridge, are you not?" he demanded bluntly.

Lars, while mildly shocked at the rudeness of the man, quickly calmed himself. His reply was brief, but not rude. "Yes, I am."

All the while, ten swordsmen had surrounded the group, their sharpened iron blades still in their scabbards.

"By the order of the King, I demand your surrender," the younger knight declared, and the swordsmen unsheathed their blades. Lars gulped, but kept a calm façade.

"Groombridge is Vanei Territory…this is an act of war," he calmly stated.

"You dare threaten us, old man?" roared the younger knight impatiently, though anger was now seeping in. "I shall give you one more chance, and one more only."

Bennett knew that Groombridge would fall to the enemy, but surrender never had- and never would be- part of his dictionary. The noblemen of Vanei, which Bennett was one, had always been prideful and (in the eyes of others) stiff.

"No."

"You would refuse our merciful offer?" the younger knight questioned angrily.

"I, Sir Lars Bennett, third son of Sir Arvin Bennett and royal administrator of Groombridge, am refusing your so called offer," Lars replied, his chest puffing out in pride…misplaced pride.

There was no reply from the Erebians.

The ten swordsmen charged, their skill and ferocity unable to be matched by the poorly trained militia. The two knights glowed red, a sign of their preparation to launch magic-based attacks.

Lars was not a mage, despite his status as a noble. That was one of the reasons he was the governor of a small village instead of a military commander.

The entire Vaneian entourage was killed within minutes, only wounding one of the Erebian swordsmen. Then, the entire Erebian force moved on the village.

* * *

The loud noises of collapsing buildings and cries of the wounded and dying were combined into a terrible cacophony of sounds. The village wall, weak as it was, had been useless against the swarms of arrows that thundered through the air before striking down the brave but futile defenses of the village militia.

The gate, which was only made out of wood, was easily broken down by the magic attacks of the Erebian mages, after which their swordsmen swarmed in. The wounded and outnumbered defenders fought valiantly, but were ultimately killed by the attackers. The houses were ransacked, and the males were killed. If a female was still alive by the end of the attack, they suffered a worse fate. The attackers, like randy dogs having been set free after years in captivity, began repeatedly raping the women, eventually killing them. The only house that was left untouched was the small infirmary.

That did not mean that it was safe from attack. Fifteen swordsmen smashed through the doors, killing the sick patients. The apothecary, as a last act of defiance, tried to attack the swordsmen, but was killed in the process. The only resistance was from the mage…

* * *

Keane Rieker had no love for the Vanei Lordship, having seen his family killed by an inebriated noble when he was young. That was why he stayed away from the cities. Though he would have loved to go far away from the Lordship, the Scourge Swarms that infested the nearby roads meant that everywhere was not safe.

So he chose the next best thing. A remote village located on the edge of nowhere, with little supervision from the Lordship. Broomridge was the only village that fit the description. He was visiting the apothecary for medical supplies when the attack begun, and was almost overwhelmed by the swordsmen. The honed magical attacks he had ensured that he was able to fend off the initial attacks, allowing him to fight a retreat to the lower end of the infirmary, where the boy- who Rieker sensed was 'void' in the balance (all living things were 'visible' in the 'balance,' essentially a crude psionic radar)- was placed.

Three of the swordsmen were dead, killed by a wall of knives that Keane had sent towards them.

As he barricaded the door, which he knew was futile; the swordsmen began shouting at him exit the room.

* * *

Shouts…much closer now. The sounds got ever louder; eventually piercing the veil of 'sleep' that I was in…wait…why was I sleeping?

"Get…the…now…man!"

The shouts only increased in volume, causing me to groan lightly. Why the fuck didn't these guys get the hint? The pounding in my head began worsening, eventually turning into a full-blown headache, as if Bryan had taken to using it as a drum last night…

Wait…

Last night?

Then the memories began flashing through my head. The strange compelling feeling to stay there for a moment, then my instincts screaming bloody danger, ending with the sharp, bright light blue lightning bolt slamming onto me. Why the fuck wasn't I dead then?

My eyes opened, though my vision was still blurred, with dark spots and flashing lights still clouding my vision. Blinking furiously to get the vision back in gear, I attempted to get up, but only succeeded in rolling off a hard bed-

-Right onto the floor.

"Ouch," I muttered, my eyes now cleared enough for me to see the wooden floor.

Wait. Wooden floor?

Why was it wooden? I thought hospitals didn't use wood anymore?

Fuck…

I raised my head, and realized three things at once.

One, I was most certainly not in a hospital. Unless hospitals were designed like primitive brick homes that I had seen in the pictures of old, ancient cities.

Two, I could literally feel everything around me. It was like I had inbuilt radar, crude as it may have been, though it was a rather apt description.

And three? The shouting was still there, and an old man was trying to barricade the door. Curiosity overcame me for a moment, and for that brief period of time, the door was smashed open. The sight that came into view next was the most bizarre I had ever witnessed. Swordsmen- actual swordsmen with metal blades- charged into the room, poised to attack the old man. The man looked defenseless, but suddenly my senses began tingling. It was like the inbuilt radar had detected a new increase in energy from the direction of the old man, which was weird, since the fact that the primitive state of the people around me would have surely ruled out electricity…in hindsight I should have been asking why I could 'feel' anything like that…but I digress.

Then the old man's hands glowed red, and with an ear-shattering battle cry, he launched a wave at the first group of swordsmen. Two swordsmen were instantly thrown to the walls, which led to a loud crack that sounded suspiciously like snapping bones.

The mage- for, what else could it be? - Then launched another attack at three more swordsmen, though he seemed to be tiring. The sheer number of swordsmen soon swarmed the mage, who had put up a good fight. I stared in shock and wonder for a moment, watching as the swordsmen restrained the old man. Then one of them gave the others outside the room the all-clear signal, and a man armored like the knights of the middle ages strode in proudly, his dark armor fitting the atmosphere very well. The 'knight' leaned in towards the old man, whispering something I could barely hear. Then, he pulled out a vicious looking dagger and stabbed the old man in the region where a heart would have been.

And at that moment, I stopped breathing. Even more shock coursed through me, my mind repeatedly replaying the death…the murder…that I had just been witness to.

Shock was then replaced by fear, before said fear was brutally crushed…by anger? Anger…anger and rage then replaced the short-lived fear, and with an enraged growl I leapt to my feet. At this point I began to realize that I had little control over my actions, and that it was as if I was doing it in a mechanical fashion, with movements that just seemed a tad bit too practiced for me. I would have said that it was instincts, but whatever it was, it gave me a hint of shock.

The knights and the men- six of them in total, turned just in time to see me push out a palm. The fuck was I doing? Apparently the group was thinking along the same lines, but then _it _occurred. What was 'it,' you might ask? The simple answer is that I have no fucking idea. Not. One. Idea.

An evidently invisible (for I was not able to see anything moving about in the air, and no shimmers denoted any disturbed air particles) wave lashed out, smashing into the group. The swordsmen flew to the wall, all six of them becoming originating points of cracking noises and squelches that would have usually made me queasy. The knight glowed red, before a 'barrier' flung into place. The invisible tidal wave I had unleashed clashed with the readily visible red wall in a pitched battle for supremacy, before the attack washed over the barrier. The knight, whose face was visible, seemed greatly tired from his actions, but I did not feel anything at the time. Thinking back on it, I should have felt some measure of guilt for killing six men, but this is all in hindsight, when adrenaline isn't crowding the veins and arteries.

My other palm lashed forward as well, and soon I began bounding towards the knight. The second 'wave' I sent was intercepted yet again by the barrier that the knight hastily put up, but his black eyes widened in surprise as I hurtled at him, crashing right into the man milliseconds after the barrier deactivated from the strain that the wave put onto it. The man seemed even more tired due to this, and as such was not able to put up anything more than feeble resistance as my fist connected with his nose, the sheer force behind the punch (which amazes me now, but I had not paid it much attention at the time) instantly breaking his nose. As if it were synchronized, my other fist hit him on the side of the head. His hand began sliding down to his dagger, but nigh instantly my hand had intercepted it, and honest-to-god, I think that when I squeezed I caused it to break. The crack caused the knight to cry out in agony, before by other hand grabbed the dagger and lifted it. A bestial howl came from me (which would cause me to be wary of myself later on for days) before I plunged it right into the man's neck. The man gurgled for a moment, and then slumped lifeless, his eyes dead. He was dead.

Motor functions returned to me at this point, and I lifted my hands, as if shocked to see them being used to take lives. Again, shock set in, before the reality of things slapped me in the face. I had killed seven people.

And…I had felt nothing as I had done it. Even after the act of killing, I had not felt shit. A psychologist would have taken the time to ask what the flying fuck was wrong with me, but my pragmatism set in at this point. The seven men that had just burst in (and died) were surely not the only ones…and that meant that there were more of them.

A grunt, a pained one at that, came as a surprise to me. The origin of it was readily apparent as I turned my head to find it coming from the old man, who had propped himself against the drab wall. He coughed, spurts of blood coming out at this point.

I moved to him, gingerly, as if I was handling a fragile thing. He turned, looking up.

"It's…not fair…" he coughed. "…But…that's life…for the poor…the rich…" at this point more coughs racked through the man. "The rich…they get richer…and they…toy with the poor…use the weak…"

I began crouching beside him, somehow wanting to help him. Then, for reasons I at the time was not able to fathom, he looked into my eyes. "You…you are different…" he coughed again. "Prom- promise me…do good…for this world…" he began wheezing at this point, seemingly not having much life left. "Now…I think I'll…have that rest…so desired…"

With that, he closed his eyes forever.

I had not noticed that a tear had begun streaking down my cheek until I blinked, then I wiped them away. For some reason, I felt compelled to say something. The butt of something stuck out of the man's robes, and I plucked it out. It looked like a leather-worn journal, bound and old. It probably held the man's thoughts…

I don't know why…but when, I looked down to the man as I stood up, I muttered, "I promise."

The whisper seemingly went unheard. I walked out the door.

* * *

The screams of dying and dead villagers had permeated the air when I first exited the apothecary. The bodies of the dead, man, woman and child laid in all directions, lying haphazardly on the ground, all of them sporting brutalized wounds from swords and 'magical' attacks.

The screams of the attackers then joined those of their victims in the air as I tore into them like a demon from the depths of hell. The cries of panic turned to those of horror as I began smashing and ravaging them, my telekinetic powers (the only thing I could use to term them) unmatched by mere swords, and soon enough, the piles of dead dotted the landscape, and silence reigned once more. The lone remaining knight had run while I was preoccupied with his men, all of whom I had dealt with as if it were a daily occurrence (something that should have, by all rights, worried me).

Giving the burning village once last look as I began moving down the dirt path, I set off in what had seemed like a random direction. Something compelled me to move towards the forest, so the while the randomness was real, it was maybe only half-real in hindsight.

Not that I had known that, of course.

The forest was thick, the canopy roof only allowing bits of sunlight to shine in. But where light shone, the forest thrived. Red and yellow leaves dotted the forest ground, seemingly similar to that of the ones from Earth. I had watched all of this in fascination- I was, after all, what most people termed as a city rat. Nature and the wild were very different things from the norm.

I began thinking through the past events again, my mind being (strangely) analytical. Instead of panicking outright, it seemed that I was trying to be rational. It felt…weird, and unsettling, as it was far from normal behavior for regular humans.

But if the occurrences of the past day have said anything…

A yawn escaped my lips, and as the adrenaline rush wore off, I realized that I was becoming more tired. Hell, it'd been safe to say that I had worn myself out…all that energy dispensed in the fight against those…primitives, I guess…must have come from somewhere…right?

Another yawn escaped me…

The tiredness increased over the span of a few seconds, and by then I had collapsed. And as the darkness encroached upon my vision, I heard the soft murmurs of a strangely mechanical voice, though there was care within it.

"Strange…Reclaimer…appearance…not…this…world…must…bring…study…at…base…"

* * *

**Author's Note: Due to an incessant writer's block with the Fons et Origo series, which I hope to resolve soon, I have not updated for quite some time. I must say that fiction pieces by authors like East Bridge (sadly he/she has not updated in a while), such as 'The Terran Legion' and other fics he/she wrote, have greatly influenced me to begin this piece. Fons Et Origo may or may not go through a rewrite, depending on whether or not certain factors influence it. But hey, who cares?! It's a new story, a new 'verse, and a new gateway to future game/story universes!**

**I would like to ask for YOUR help. YES, YOU, THE READER. PM me with the TV/Movie/Book/Games that you want to see in this piece, and I'll see what I can do! Though this story will use units with StarCraft influences, it will not include Protoss or Zerg UNLESS YOU, THE READER, REQUESTS IT!**

**Review if you want to! No pressure!**

**Bouncyjellies out (damn it, Admiral Hackett made it sound so much cooler in Mass Effect)**


	3. A New War

The ear-splitting white noise made it nigh impossible to sleep. The pounding headache I had seemed to make it even worse, if that was even physically possible. It felt like I had one hell of a hangover-which was impossible. I don't drink alcohol. Right? Goddamn it, I don't know…what the hell had happened last night? I mean, I'm not even in college yet, and technically I'm fourteen, so consuming alcohol is probably unlikely (in addition to the fact that I prided myself on being able to control myself from succumbing to peer pressure).

These thoughts were dashed as I attempted to open my eyes. The small action already drained me of my possibly nonexistent energy.

A soft groan escaped me, before my eyelids fluttered open-

MOTHERFU-

The shining bright lights blinded me for a moment, and my squinting did not really help with the situation. The headache increased, and now it felt like the entire United States Army was using it as a training ground.

_Ah, Jesus H. Christ…_

I gave it another two minutes before trying to get my sorry ass up again. This time, though, I succeeded, before taking a good look at my surroundings.

Everything was just so…damn…shiny.

No wonder I thought I had seen lights.

Unlike before, this wasn't some ancient primitive hole…it was far from that. Hell, I would have said that it was the direct opposite.

Silver walls, sleek and advanced-looking computers, actual medical equipment, and a modern look to top it off just gave it a science fiction vibe.

Then the reality of the situation hit me.

This wasn't Earth. There was no way for that. Earth actually had technology, and as far as I know, there were no historical documents regarding men that could glow red and do…space magic? What the heck do I call it?

No, it was clear that I was far away from home. And now, I was in yet another different setting…instead of laughably primitive I get laughably advanced. To top it off, I have no idea where I actually am, and no clue on what my surroundings are.

Christ almighty, I hope this doesn't become a common occurrence, or I'd be screwed…and I hate to be the one getting screwed. And with that morbid thought, I began searching for a way out.

* * *

Ancestor Facility A-707, Contested Territory  
Britannia Isles, Europa, Terra  
Date Unknown (ESC: June 8, 2014)

707 Valiant Light, the Ancilla of the facility, watched the newcomer, the Reclaimer, in trepidation. He had waited a hundred thousand years for this…for the reunion with the children of the Ancestors. Though the history was all but lost, Light could remember snippets of a conversation with his creator, which had occurred even longer ago.

The conversation itself wasn't clear, only that there was a 'Great War' in the process, and that the Ancestors were being pushed back slowly, their advanced technology falling to the swarms of the unknown enemies in a war that lasted for generations. But only one full sentence survived the test of time, fully remembered by Light. 'A Reclaimer will bring back our legacy...a Reclamation of our glory.'

Light had not understood the statement. But it was glaringly obvious that the Ancestors had lost- after all, there hadn't been a single Ancestor on Terra for upwards of a hundred thousand years…and since Terra was once a major industrial, scientific and military hub, it would not be forgotten by the Ancestors. The massive production and assembly lines in the facility alone would attest to it, and so would the extensive laboratories.

Built and activated in the twilight of the Great War, mere weeks from the end, Light was assigned to a small (in Ancestor scales, small, which meant 'GODDAMN THAT'S HUGE' in most scales) production/research facility, but soon he was ordered into 'sleep mode' by a data burst from an Ancestor comm. relay.

The only reason he had been awakened was the fact that the limited passive scans that continuously occurred managed to detect Ancestor DNA- or, as he would find out later, partial Ancestor DNA.

Data previously locked and unknown to Light suddenly flooded him as he processed the information, and then he understood. This was a Reclaimer. The programming in him forced him to comply with the last Ancestor directives, which was to bring the Reclaimer to the facility, which, to his knowledge, was the only one left on Terra.

His 'instincts' said otherwise. What made this being a Reclaimer? Why did they call it a Reclaimer? And how could these new beings have Ancestor DNA?

As the facility went back to life for the first time in millennia, and active scans picked up millions of lifeforms on the surface of Terra, all of which seemed similar- in fact, they looked like downright copies, though somehow they hadn't received the 'Reclaimer' designations- to that of the Reclaimer, Light carried out the first actions of the Ancestors in this time and age.

He went to retrieve the Reclaimer. That was ten hours ago.

* * *

The walls all looked the same. There were no cracks, no lines, nothing to designate that a door was there.

After a while of endless searching, I became frustrated.

"Dammit, open the freaking door!" I yelled in anger at the air, before plopping myself back onto the very, very comfortable bed that was provided in the…prison room? I don't know much about prisons (and I really do hope to anything holy out there to not to learn much about them), but clean, orderly, and aesthetically beautiful aren't the phrases I would have used to describe one.

Of course, imagine my surprise when a section of the wall suddenly split into two, creating a pleasant 'whooshing' sound.

I gaped at the newly formed doorway for a moment, before exasperation overtook me.

"You've got to be shitting me! You mean I could've just asked for it to open?" I groaned.

A mechanical voice, eerily familiar, yet foreign and unknown, filled the room.

"While I do not understand the context of this Ancilla defecating on you, Reclaimer, I had believed that you already knew how to open doors…"

I froze.

The hell was that?

I wanted to ask it…him…I hope to hell it isn't a 'her,' since it sounded so…male…

Blah. I wanted to ask so many questions…

Who are you? What are you? Where the hell are you? Where am I? What the heck happened to me?

In the end, I did not get to ask any of that.

"Follow the path please, Reclaimer," said the voice, right before a set of green lights appeared on the metallic floor, apparently egging me on to follow the set path.

Mentally shrugging with a brief errant thought on the lines of 'ah, why the hell not?' I began complying.

As I stepped out to the hallway, I noticed that there wasn't much here in the way of interior design. Silver, metallic walls, gleaming and shiny, was all that could be seen in all directions.

As I followed the green lights that were somehow appearing from the floor (which, yes, was also metallic and silvery), I began to see changes in the scenery. Not major and sudden ones mind you, but at some points the hallway became tighter for twenty or so meters (approximately, since I couldn't really measure it without a measuring tape), before it reverted to its original width.

_Choke points_, I realized. It was to bottleneck any hostile forces to provide killzones for the defenders. I was proven right later on, but that's beside the point at the moment.

Eventually, a whirring sound reached my ears, and as I rounded a corner I saw what the cause of the noise was.

Of course, any partially intelligent creature could have seen that with ease due to the way my jaw was hanging.

The new hallway led to a circular…control center? Command Post? Room? That wasn't what caused the jaw-drop, no. It was what lay behind the transparent and clear glass windows that surrounded the room. Even from here, a viewing point not even in the room itself, I could already feel the sheer enormity of what laid behind the glass.

And as I walked closer to the glass, I was proven right. Gigantic wouldn't have even come close to describing the size of the place. It was cavernous, tall enough to fit a skyscraper (though the ceiling was nearby, which meant that most of the…facility, I guess, was below), and extremely vast, so vast that I had difficulty even seeing the end.

Assembly lines dotted the place, though they seemed dormant. This place along would have easily matched the industrial capacities of any Earth nation with ease if it ran at full capacity.

"Impressive, is it not, Reclaimer?" that mechanical voice queried.

Despite my surprise at getting shocked, I didn't jump fifteen meters or anything like that. I merely looked to the right (where the voice came from), after picking up my jaw that is.

The origin of the voice was a…ball? The hell? It was a shiny, metallic, silvery ball with a green 'eye.' It floated in the air, and though it looked harmless, I had no doubt that it had enough defensive and offensive measures to make a crack team of Special Air Service commandos faint in astonishment.

But yet…for the first time since I arrived at this godforsaken world (or it could have been two worlds, who the hell knows), I felt…at ease? Relaxed?

The 'ball' felt like a long lost friend…but why did it make me feel that way?

Until today, I wouldn't have even thought that 'red space magic' and gigantic factories the size of a city was a possibility.

Shows what we all know, right?

"It is," I merely settled for a short response.

"And to think that this was once considered small," the 'ball' stated. "But, that is the past…a very long past…"

The 'ball' trailed off there. It…he…I don't really know, but since it sounds like a male I'll go with 'he.'

"Well, I suppose I should introduce myself, Reclaimer, I am 707 Valiant Light, Ancilla and overseer of Ancestor Facility A-707," he announced.

"Alex Cole…what's a Reclaimer?" I couldn't help but ask.

The 'ball' gave me a look that seemed…curious?

"You do not know what a Reclaimer is?" he asked carefully.

I shook my head, signaling a clear 'no.'

"Interesting…" he muttered, before continuing. "A Reclaimer is a title given to the designated heirs to the Ancestor Empire. They are allowed access to all technology; information and resources the Ancestors have at their disposal. In short, the Reclaimers are the beings that would…reclaim the glory of the Ancestors."

I was silent for a moment.

Who were the Ancestors?

What made me one of these Reclaimers?

Reclaiming the 'glory?' Doesn't that mean that they are now dead and gone?

But before I could say anything, the 'Ancilla' spoke. "Judging by your lack of knowledge on Reclaimers, I assume you have no idea on who the Ancestors were?"

A small shake of the head was all that he needed, before he began explaining.

"The Ancestors were an ancient race of beings. They looked just like your species, except that they were superior in every aspect- strength, agility, endurance, speed. They were much taller than you as well, and in addition to advanced technology, they had certain…powers. They called it psionics, but it was often mistaken as magic by the more primitive and uneducated."

The weird powers…psionics? Were they psionics?

"The Ancestors ruled over hundreds of thousands of worlds, not including space stations and moons. Their military might and scientific knowledge was unparalleled except by a few. Until their fall…they were the one of the strongest races in the galaxy."

As I began to process that, Light added in more information.

"Though much of the data on the more advanced technologies have been lost…the important baseline ones still exist. What you see in front of you…that may as well be the last bastion of Ancestor technology."

My mind reeled at the sheer importance of the situation I was in. Technology that seemed light years ahead of what we have on Earth…the legacy of an ancient race…it was all in my hands.

A small niggling thought at the back of my mind, though, wouldn't go away.

Eventually I had to ask the question.

"How did they fall? The Ancestors?"

Light seemed to turn…dejected? "I do not know. I was commissioned at near the end of the war, and was ordered into 'sleep' mode. In fact, had you not arrived here, I would have stayed in 'sleep' mode."

And then he turned serious. "What I do know is that the Ancestors…my makers…they are long gone now. Their time in the galaxy has passed…and it is now time for a new race to take up their legacy. I would have thought that it was your race…but the members of your race on this world do not have Ancestor DNA…only you. Some of them may have minor psionic signatures, but it seems…crude. Very much unlike Ancestor Psionics, which is more refined in signature."

The full weight of the words then hit me like a freight train travelling at the speed of sound.

"You mean that…I'm part Ancestor?" I whispered. I felt like I was on the verge of something…the answer to a question I had asked myself since I had turned seven. What made me different?

While other boys wanted to be footballers, racecar drivers, police officers or jobs like that, I longed for something different. I found it hard to trust most people, and I usually could judge a man or woman's character within an hour of meeting them. Friends were a major issue, since I found it hard to even trust people who I had known for years. The few friends I had were the ones I would have entrusted my life to. Other things persisted as well. I healed remarkably fast, with a relatively strong immune system. A 'sixth' sense, if you will, was also something that made me stand out. I could tell when there was danger, like the 'spidey-sense' of that fictional superhero Spiderman.

Light merely bobbed his…head? Ah, geez, he nodded, there you go.

"It's very hard to spot, but it is there, hidden within your DNA," Light declared. "Given the fact that you are, as of this day, the only Reclaimer on this world, you have officially been designated as Imperator of the Ancestor Empire."

…

A pregnant silence followed, before I said the only thing that was appropriate, given the situation.

"What?"

* * *

Ancestor Facility A-707, Contested Territory  
Britannia Isles, Europa, Terra  
Date Unknown (ESC: June 12, 2014)

I later found that Ancestor timekeeping was similar to that of Earth's. Too similar, in fact, for it to be a coincidence. The humans of the modern age may as well be the genetic descendants of the Ancestors. It sure as hell would explain the similar physiology.

It also turned out that the metallic silvery walls of the facility were there not because it was designed that way, but because the walls themselves were coated in thick layers of nanites- essentially nanobots, miniscule and microscopic robots- so that barriers or anything of the sort could be 'built' within seconds. Unlike the movies, these nanites could not self multiply, and though that would have been awesome (imagine: endless swarms of nanite armies), the available technology just did not allow it. Supposedly, Quantum Energy would have been a possibility for this to work that way, but the science behind it was so mindboggling that I could not even understand it, and Light himself had stated that most Ancestor scientists had not either. All they knew (theorized, and proved, but data corruption took its toll on the mighty databanks here) was that you could supposedly 'feed' it solar, geothermal or any type of energy, and get 'Quantum' in return. The Quantum Energy could power devices with 100% efficiency, unlike any other power source. Less is more, turned real right there.

Another thing they proved was that you could 'feed' mass to the Quantum Realm (apparently, the eggheads had not bothered to think of a more imaginative name for it), and get the same exact mass of another element or material in return. In essence, you could feed it 50 kilograms of dirt and get fifty kilograms of gold in return. However, to power the 'Quantum Material Exchanger' you needed to use the 'Quantum Power Generator.'

That was the gist of it, though the sciences behind them were infinitely more complicated.

But since I simply did not have access to those mind-blowing technologies, I simply had to make do with the more 'mundane' Ancestor tech. Of course, the word 'mundane' here was relative to the situation. I know for a fact that any Earth nation would commit genocidal acts (not only one act of genocide) just to get even a chance of gaining the 'mundane' Ancestor technologies. Medical salves that could seal wounds, nanites that could improve the immune system of a person and cure them of any disease, including cancer and AIDS, energy shielding, armor that could stop a nuclear bomb in its tracks, mass production capabilities and resource collecting methods far beyond even the grasp of the smartest man on Earth were just some of these life-changing techs.

The past four days were busy ones. After getting over my dumbstruck initial shock of being given _that_ much power (after all, absolute power supposedly corrupted absolutely), I had immediately gotten to work. It felt like going home after a long journey…pleasing and comforting, for some reason.

The first things I did included the building of resource collection and maintenance droids. The Specialized Mining Vehicles and Standard Construction Vehicles looked so…alien, at first, so I changed them. Yes, I shamelessly admit to changing the look of an Ancestor device. The SMVs I modeled after the 'MULE' drones from StarCraft 2's Wings of Liberty campaign, a real time strategy video game that I loved to play. They had mining tools and drills, along with the entire mining arsenal that could be conceived with Ancestor technology.

The SCVs I modeled after the SCVs of StarCraft 2 as well. By now, it was pretty obvious that I loved StarCraft 2. Light merely gave an inquisitive look to me when I ordered the design changes, but otherwise said nothing. The SCVs, while they still had the drills and mining tools, were now more suited to constructing structures and buildings. I also gave them a semiautomatic rifle (Ancestor tech, despite their advanced nature, somehow didn't stray too far from projectile weapons, though I will admit that the round size and speed, along with composition, were light years ahead of Earth's), just in case.

The SCVs and SMVs, though, were not controlled by organic beings. Instead, a 'dumb' AI controlled them. Ancillas like Valiant Light were like human beings- they were sentient, but a hell lot smarter, with creativity in the package as well. Copying the psionic signature and brain of an Ancestor, which was impossible now due to obvious reasons, evidently created them. In essence, they were digitalized Ancestors.

Then you had the two AIs, the 'Smart' and 'Dumb' AIs (Artificial Intelligences). To prevent a 'doomsday Terminator event,' as I described it to Light (who seemed incensed and horrified at the mere thought of betraying his creators), I entered the three laws of Robotics by Asimov into the 'Smart' AIs.

It would be more accurate to say that I planned to. Smart AIs were supposed to be created by copying the brain of a human being (or any comparable sentient being), and cloning my brain to 'copy' took time. Light estimated that only one out of every twenty brains scanned and copied would result in a Smart AI, which could think and essentially be a human being, just with reduced creativity (the latter was evidently something the Ancestors struggled with, until they copied the psionic signatures as well, which apparently was where Ancestor creativity laid in…or something like that, I didn't really understand it).

Then you had the 'dumb' AIs. They resulted from every one out of two brains copied (the rest would be abject failures, with no viable results), or alternatively could be programmed (which I did, since, like I said, cloning a brain takes time). The dumb AIs could not think creatively, nor could they operate outside of their set parameters. They were essentially smart computers, without being actually 'alive' like the Smart AIs or Ancillas.

Since mining and constructing buildings were rather 'simple' things for a Smart AI and Ancilla, I used a dumb AI for it.

It turned out that there were still many mining veins that were untapped in the lower depths of the facility, untouched since the facility itself was only built in the heyday of the 'war.' The SCVs built resource collection centers (shaped like a miniature command center from StarCraft 2), along with supply and storage depots (supply depots looked like their namesakes from StarCraft 2, while Storage Depots looked like four interconnected supply depots), while the SMVs commenced their mining activities.

The 'assembly lines' I had seen yesterday weren't actually the factories and manufacturing centers for the units. They produced the basic parts of it, and while I could have easily ordered Light to use them for troop production (which would have been less efficient), it was glaringly obvious that using them for part production was more effective.

So, I began 'designing' two new types of structures- the Barracks and the Factory (both of which I based on their namesakes from, yep, StarCraft 2). The Barracks would build all sorts of ground units, while the Factories would handle production of Tanks, APCs, Artillery units, and combat walkers.

Aerial units and naval ones would be handled later, due to the facility being actually underground, and not even near the coast, both were essentially useless to build.

I gave a grin as new status reports poured in. Things were chugging along perfectly fine. Soon, an entire army of droids and drones will pour out, bringing a new world order into place- one where war would be the things of the past, and one where the common people could live free and happy. One led by a just leader.

Led by me.

And in all my haste to do this, I forgot a fatal flaw of many human beings, me included. Hubris. And by God, I was going to pay dearly for it later.

* * *

Blood Path, Contested Territory  
Britannia Isles, Europa, Terra  
Date Unknown (ESC: June 12, 2014)

Blood Path was an apt name for the site of the latest battle between the Vanei Lordship and the Kingdom of Erebia. The blood of thousands of men flowed freely through the soil here, a result of an indecisive battle.

A battle, which, with proper tactics, could have resulted in a decisive victory for either side but, simply put, that was not how both nations worked. The generals and commanders were not promoted to that level by skill, no, they were promoted through political connections. As such, most of the generals were the sons of rich noblemen and royalty, possessing little in the knowledge of tactics, strategy or war.

After a bloody stalemate which saw the 3rd Legion of the Vanei Army and the 4th Force of the Erebian Guards get bloodied and depleted of men, most of them conscripted peasants with little to no training, the inept generals on both sides finally called for a retreat.

A single Legion of the Vanei Army had 2500 men, divided into ten groups of two hundred and fifty. The Vanei Lordship had two permanent legions, composed of trained soldiers, though in times of war four more legions would be formed, using conscripted peasants led by the soldiers from the 1st and 2nd Legion.

Like the Legions of the Vanei, the Erebian Guards were composed of three permanent Forces of 2000 trained soldiers, divided into twenty units of a hundred. Five more Forces that would be made of conscripts would be formed as extra units in times of war.

Of the 2500 men in the 3rd Legion, only 150 were alive by the end of the battle. Of the 2000 men in the 4th Force, only 102 were left alive.

Centurion Drake Gough looked grimly at the scene before him. Of the one hundred and two men who had made it out of the savage battle, only forty or so were in healthy and full fighting condition. The rest were wounded in some way or form, some of them grievously so, and they would most likely not survive the night.

Gough sighed in dismay. He, like other real soldiers, did not want war. He did his damnedest to avoid it…and it was one of the reasons why he hadn't been promoted to the rank of General (a Centurion commanded a hundred troops, while a General commanded the entire Force, while a Commander commanded the entire combined army). As the only son of a Sir Arthur Gough and Lady Maria Gough (the former was a wealthy nobleman, the latter was the daughter of one of the richest merchants in Erebia), he could have easily attained the rank of Centurion just by asking for it once he had joined the Erebian Guards.

But, unlike his peers, Drake Gough entered the Guards and served his way to the rank of Centurion. He fought alongside soldiers that had, pardon the words, shitty upbringings and bled alongside them. He had been involved in countless battles, and had always tried his best to keep his men alive.

That alone won him the admiration and loyalty of many of the men under his command, and being assigned to his unit (8th Unit, 4th Force) was considered to be a blessing, since the 8th Unit of the 4th Erebian Guards Force was acknowledged to be one of the most effective Erebian Guard units in service.

Gough was tough on his men, true. He drilled them hard, and while he was tough as hell, he was also fair, but most importantly he cared for his men. A soldier in the 8th Unit of the 4th Force would get compensation if he were wounded in battle, that was one thing Gough had made sure of. As such, it was not a surprise that of the 102 surviving men, 84 of them were members of the 8th Unit. Better coordination and small-scale tactics had ensured the higher survival rates of the Unit, while other Units were merely ordered to charge like drunkards. That the Centurions of those Units were dead brought some justice to the situation, but it was hardly enough. The General of the 4th Force, General Sir Edmund Waverly, was the son of an important nobleman as well, though he was tactically and strategically incompetent. When the battle became a stalemate, the General had not done anything, even though he and his 'escorts' were the only men with horses and heavy armor. A cavalry charge would have surely turned the tide of the battle in the 4th Force's favor, but a mixture of cowardice and idiocy had prevented that from happening.

And so when the 'retreat' was issued, the General and his heavily armed mounted escorts were the first ones to escape the scene.

Gough himself had been on the frontlines of battle, fighting alongside a trusted team of nine swordsmen with the close-range fire support of three 'crossbowmen,' an upgraded version of bowmen/archers. The 'Core Team' alone had caused tens of confirmed kills of Vaneian soldiers, and wounding many more.

In addition to his not inconsiderable 'magical' powers, Gough was also a master swordsman, and capable with a bow and arrow. His Unit was considered to be the best armored soldiers in the entire 4th Force (all the armor being either bought through Gough's estate or looted from officers of other kingdoms and empires), and with Gough at their head it was nearly impossible to counter them. The fact that they fought smartly also added to it, but even the sheer numbers of enemy soldiers could cause losses.

While other Units broke their lines and ran without a sense of direction, the 8th Unit retreated in an orderly fashion, with crossbowmen covering the retreat of swordsmen. That alone ensured the lighter losses suffered by the 8th Unit.

And now, here he was, the last Centurion of the 4th Force, and impromptu general of the Force itself, since Sir Edmund was most likely at the gates of Erebia already.

It was approaching night already, and the surviving soldiers were already settling in for the night in a clearing. Though he himself intended to lead the first shift of watch his second in command, a lean and athletic man named Michael, bluntly told him, in no certain terms, that he would either go rest or be knocked out in order to rest.

Needless to say, Gough went on to rest, secretly relieved since he was already tired from the events of the past hours.

But as the sun began setting, casting a reddish glow onto the ground, Gough began feeling ripples, as if fate would be changed. Shrugging it off, he began to fall into sleep.

One final thought, though, made its way into his mind.

_Times are changing._

* * *

Erebia  
Britannia Isles, Europa, Terra  
Date Unknown (ESC: June 12, 2014)

As a member of the Royal Erebian Knights, Sir Hanson Prose never had encountered much difficulty in getting what he wanted. Hell, the knowledge of the fact that he was a noble and a member of the Knights usually resulted in entire groups of nubile virgin girls readying themselves for deflowering by him. At the age of nineteen, he was rather young for a Knight, but he was very smart compared to his fellows.

Prose knew when to fight, and when to run. After he saw the slaughter of ten men within the timespan of a few seconds by a monster…he immediately knew to run. As good as his magical powers were, and as skilled as was with a blade, he knew that it would not be enough to win.

The fact that the entire contingent of men sent to wipe Broomridge off the map had probably been eliminated did not weigh heavily on his mind- after all, they were mere conscripts, very few of them actually being trained soldiers. He could easily get more of them from any of the villages within Erebian territory.

He had been away from his horse at the time of the slaughter, urinating into a bush. As such, when he ran, it was on foot. And despite the proximity between Erebia and Vanei, it was still a day's journey by horse, and even longer by foot. It was further extended since Prose wanted to be harder to track, and used a forest trail instead of a road.

Now, as a superior was debriefing him, Prose could not help but feel the menacing air that lingered around the headquarters of the Royal Erebian Knights Order. Unlike other Knights, who would've tried to give excuses and lie about how they were forced to run, Prose was completely honest.

It was simple as to why he was honest. The beast that had slaughtered the men sent to Broomridge had a 'magical' signature that simply felt like a void to Prose. Unlike the regular commoners, who had detectable 'life-forces,' or mages, who had detectable 'auras,' the man/beast/monster that had killed all those men had none. But yet, it seemed like he had magical abilities as well, just without the staple red glow that all mages seemed to have when conjuring a magical ability.

The superior, Lord of Knights Sir Aiden Tomes merely listened. No emotions were shown on his stoic face…until Prose spoke of the 'void' and the lack of a red glow.

A brief look of panic and anxiety flashed across Tomes' face, before it was replaced once more by the stoic face.

"Sir Prose, you must not tell anyone of this. Not the crown prince, not any Knight," Tomes stated in a forceful and clear tone. "You are dismissed."

Prose, knowing better than to ask, quickly rushed out of the room.

Not five minutes later, Tomes strode out, and began heading to the Royal Palace.

'_The King must know…the prophecy may just be coming…and Lords from Above help us if it is true…'_

* * *

**AN: Well, here I am with the first real chapter of Veni, Vidi, Vici. Now, a Halo fan will be able to easily spot some 'THAT'S FROM HALO' stuff in the chapter, and trust me, it's intentional. Like I said during the previous chapter (or should I call it the Prologue?), this fic will eventually encompass multiple game universes. After some discussions with a few of my friends, I have decided to make sure that both the MASS EFFECT and HALO universes are going to be included in here. How? Well, you're just going have to wait for it.  
**

**Remember to review and PM if you have any other suggestions for game universes you want to see included!**

**CIAO :D**


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